A new TV series, The Glee Project, is engaging on several levels. The starting point is that each participant is talented, but the selection process determines what else sets each contestant apart from another, as well as potential cohesion with the existing Glee cast and conforming to the series premise of "losers" who sometimes are winners. Some contestants can out-sing others, while others can out-perform some singers, but what separates them is that intangible quality that goes beyond the skill sets. So far, it appears that few are talented in dance/ choreography, which is a significant part of the Glee performance each week, a performance skill that separates the top tier from who’s going home in the next episode.
What I specifically appreciate is the willingness of the selection committee to hone in on the quality indicators as they specify them each week: the final performance either makes – or breaks – a contestant, and sometimes those indicators are discreet, rather than obvious. It is the distinction that can be made only by a well-qualified working professional, a rare insight that takes years of knowledge and practical experience to develop. You know it when you experience it, but there is no way to define it or even describe it: it's deep and it's real, and it's critical to success.
This week’s episode centered on vulnerability, but not on what one says is his/her vulnerability, but what the individual conveys beyond the words. This kind of reality is not applied like a band-aid to give the appearance of vulnerability, but has to be the deeply-felt vulnerability that no one wants to share with others. In my view, the most disadvantaged performer is the most professional, the young Irish lad who has been on-stage with Celtic Thunder. His job on the Celtic stage is to convince the audience that he’s all man, Celtic strong, a strength that comes from generations of fierce warriors. He’s a young man whose life is more façade than reality, so how does he touch what’s inside and bring it outside for the world to see, especially while he’s on stage? Vulnerability directly conflicts with his previous professional performance, so for him to be vulnerable, not just act it, had to be harder than it would be for any of the other contestants.
From the living room side of the TV screen, it is easier to see contestants acting vulnerable than it may seem from the performance stage. Some of the performers are certain that they have nailed their song and are surprised when the professionals critique the performance as being less than honest. This week’s final performance was presented by a “chica” who spent too much time pretending to be … rather than being. She stereotyped herself the way she thought would be most convincing to the panel of judges, but they recognized her act and sent her home. She wasn’t vulnerable; she was merely acting her perception of vulnerable, and acting did not rate a call-back.
I’m not sure if the goal is to finish the experience with one winner or multiple winners, but that task has to be beyond challenging to almost impossible. When everyone participating shares a level playing field, the little things separate the call-backs from the contestants going home. I am going to stick with the series because I like the life lesson that reminds all of us that sometimes, good enough isn’t, along with an enjoyable hour of talented performers doing their thing. The Glee Experience: tune in.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Greasing Squeaky Wheels
There is dancing in the streets: yippee ti-yi-ya, yippee oh because PS has “more gay couples” than any other CA city, according to the local media! Wowzer, what a triumph of squeaky wheels being heard, especially in PS, where the LBGT community pretty much calls the shots for the rest of the population. However, the failure of the local media is that it compares "heads of household" stats with total population stats to create a perception that is not statistically valid.
IF the stats were presented differently, in PS, of the total census population of 44,552, 2621 households indicated that they were same sex/married or roommate, which could mean that there are as many as 5,242 homosexual residents of the total 44,552 residents in PS (with presumably 39,310 heterosexuals), but that assumed total number of LBGT could be lower because it is not specified how many people comprise a "household." The newspaper makes an essentially heterosexual community become the LBGT capitol of California by its selective combination of statistical information.
What is mentioned in the closing paragraphs of the article is that statewide there are 110 homosexual households (couples/partners/ roommates) per 1,000 households (11%), which seems to damp the rhetoric of the local headlines that scream with gay pride the highest percentage in the state of gay households (11.5%), as if there is a significant difference between the local and statewide statistics. Publicizing that PS is insignificantly more gay than the rest of the state probably would not endear the local media to the local LBGT community.
The end result of the presentation of the statistics skews the facts to serve the interests of the very small, but extremely powerful LBGT community that not only makes policy in the Valley, but directs public relations and marketing to the rest of the world. Although the rest of the CV also has core gay communities, PS becomes the standard-bearer for all because the skewed stats support positive publicity for the LBGT cause. The highest number of homosexual couples per population becomes a huge world-wide marketing tool for the local LBGT events that literally double the population of the area throughout the season and bring in millions in tourist revenue annually.
On the surface, it seems that PS is cutting off its straight nose to better show off its gay face. The media message is that PS is the place to be if you're gay, but if you're straight, uh, not so much. Because the 11% LBGT population lives, works, and helps supports the city financially, continue to send the gay message, but not at the exclusion of the other 89% of the population that also lives, works, and has money to spend in PS.
IF the stats were presented differently, in PS, of the total census population of 44,552, 2621 households indicated that they were same sex/married or roommate, which could mean that there are as many as 5,242 homosexual residents of the total 44,552 residents in PS (with presumably 39,310 heterosexuals), but that assumed total number of LBGT could be lower because it is not specified how many people comprise a "household." The newspaper makes an essentially heterosexual community become the LBGT capitol of California by its selective combination of statistical information.
What is mentioned in the closing paragraphs of the article is that statewide there are 110 homosexual households (couples/partners/ roommates) per 1,000 households (11%), which seems to damp the rhetoric of the local headlines that scream with gay pride the highest percentage in the state of gay households (11.5%), as if there is a significant difference between the local and statewide statistics. Publicizing that PS is insignificantly more gay than the rest of the state probably would not endear the local media to the local LBGT community.
The end result of the presentation of the statistics skews the facts to serve the interests of the very small, but extremely powerful LBGT community that not only makes policy in the Valley, but directs public relations and marketing to the rest of the world. Although the rest of the CV also has core gay communities, PS becomes the standard-bearer for all because the skewed stats support positive publicity for the LBGT cause. The highest number of homosexual couples per population becomes a huge world-wide marketing tool for the local LBGT events that literally double the population of the area throughout the season and bring in millions in tourist revenue annually.
On the surface, it seems that PS is cutting off its straight nose to better show off its gay face. The media message is that PS is the place to be if you're gay, but if you're straight, uh, not so much. Because the 11% LBGT population lives, works, and helps supports the city financially, continue to send the gay message, but not at the exclusion of the other 89% of the population that also lives, works, and has money to spend in PS.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Not Old Man Shakespeare's Classic Ages of Man
Too much time on my hands leads to too much time spent ruminating, especially the shoulda/woulda/coulda things of life that, at the time, didn't seem like a big deal, but grew in importance during the aging process.
Specifically, I've been thinking about the exuberance of youth, the absolute confidence that I will ... become someone/something grand, important, significant. The totally idealistic enthusiasm children have is often tarnished by well-meaning adults who provide far too many reality checks based on their own lives, rather than urging the young ones to soar beyond what any of "us" experienced during our lives. Of course we cannot allow children to run the streets without supervision and boundaries, but too much structure provides constraints, rather than constructing a ladder that can reach the stars.
The teen years are filled with expectations, many of which are unreasonable and most of which are totally self-serving and egocentric, especially when the generation gap between the expectations of I'm going to and the resignation of the elderly is the grand canyon gap of 50 years, the difference between the Wright Brothers and space flight! I'd rather have cocky teens who are confident of the mark they will make than timid teens who are afraid to crawl out the window after lights out. If you never push the boundaries, how do you know how to go where no one has ever gone before and become someone and/or do something that changes the world?
In the 20s and 30s, there is optimism supporting the major life changes we all face, one way or another: marriage, birthing children, carving out a career, realizing that life is not the piece of cake you once thought it was, or actualizing innate ability and making your own personal dreams come true. Someone had to make sense out of that pile of electronic pieces in the garage, and someone else still has their own pile of pieces to put together that will take us all to the next level. There's still time to dream, time to make it happen, and time to try again in the 20s and the 30s, especially since this is the age group that has decided to stay young forever.
In the 40s and 50s is the acceptance that the clock is ticking faster, that time is marching on whether I'm in step or marching to my own beat. Some of the things I wanted to do, the places I wanted to see, and the people I wanted to meet took another path, and my life is a forest of missed opportunities. Of course, on the other hand, the paths I walked have, for the most part, been rich and rewarding or amazing and interesting -- including the life lessons we all experience first-hand and figure out how to handle all by our lonesomes. It is during this time that our parents leave our lives, our children step away from us to make their own lives, and we stand in front of the bathroom mirror and see our parent's face staring back at us.
In the 60s sets in the resignation of the elderly, who quickly learn that no one listens to old people, no one wants to spend time with old people, and spending day after day with other old people confirms the why of those decisions. Driving a car is no longer an adventure, but an accident waiting to happen, especially when one has traveled from 2-lane country roads to 8-lane freeways, and speeds have gone from 45 flyin' mph to 85 get the hell out of my way mph. Each day becomes a challenge of remember when, accompanied by a whole litany of I used to, and thank god the dog is a good listener.
My mom always said that you cannot put an old head onto young shoulders, indicating that the wisdom of the elderly could temper the exuberance of the youth, provide a reality check for the expectations, temper the frustrations of acceptance, and hold at bay the resignation of the elderly who feel as if life has either passed them by completely, or disappointed them in its outcome. I now realize that there is much to be gained by providing historical lessons, but today's generations are too busy texting, tweeting, and I-Ming to have the time to listen. They will get their lessons the old-fashioned way, from the school of hard knocks, the same way we all did, back before we became the old folks determined to teach the young ones some of life's truths and save them from the mistakes we made when we were their age. We cannot save anyone from learning life's lessons one at a time, so quit trying!
On this fine day, with a "sudden drop" in the temps from 113 yesterday to a mere 109 today, and the air conditioning cranking at least half of the total hours each day just to keep the inside of the house bearable, and the last of the injections of filler inside my knee, I find myself wanting to revisit a whole lot of shoulda/woulda/coulda opportunities that I didn't hear knocking. I want to go places, do things, and be with people, rather than taking care of my house, my pets, and my possessions.
I'm tired of being the responsible person, the one who does it all because there is no one else to do it for me. I'd love to have someone else remember that Wednesday is garbage day -- and take the cans to the curb; to have someone else groan at the realization that it's been 2 weeks since the last big doggie doo pick-up in the dog run; to have someone else clean the damned car, inside and out, because that is one of the physical activities that really torques my spinal column (as well as both vacuuming and mopping); to wash an occasional load of clothes, fold them, and put them away. But the choices I made back then led to my life today, so I live with knowing that I did what I had to do back then, even though it sucks to live with it in the here and now.
Today is one of those days that I'd like to lock the doors, drive away, and come back another day. My destination: a walk along the beach, a lingering dinner in a nice restaurant (rather than fast-food), and a really good night's sleep topped off with someone else figuring out breakfast. When I was younger, I did that, but for some reason, I'm just not as confident today as I was yesterday that it's a good idea, much less that I can make it happen.
Do I hear a chorus of "I love to go a-wandering, along the mountain track, and as I go I love to sing my knapsack on my back. Val-der-ee, val-der-rah, val-der-ee, val-der-rah, ha ha ha ha ha ha, val-der-ee, val-der-rah my knapsack on my back!!" Perhaps I'll load up my knapsack and see what happens ...
Specifically, I've been thinking about the exuberance of youth, the absolute confidence that I will ... become someone/something grand, important, significant. The totally idealistic enthusiasm children have is often tarnished by well-meaning adults who provide far too many reality checks based on their own lives, rather than urging the young ones to soar beyond what any of "us" experienced during our lives. Of course we cannot allow children to run the streets without supervision and boundaries, but too much structure provides constraints, rather than constructing a ladder that can reach the stars.
The teen years are filled with expectations, many of which are unreasonable and most of which are totally self-serving and egocentric, especially when the generation gap between the expectations of I'm going to and the resignation of the elderly is the grand canyon gap of 50 years, the difference between the Wright Brothers and space flight! I'd rather have cocky teens who are confident of the mark they will make than timid teens who are afraid to crawl out the window after lights out. If you never push the boundaries, how do you know how to go where no one has ever gone before and become someone and/or do something that changes the world?
In the 20s and 30s, there is optimism supporting the major life changes we all face, one way or another: marriage, birthing children, carving out a career, realizing that life is not the piece of cake you once thought it was, or actualizing innate ability and making your own personal dreams come true. Someone had to make sense out of that pile of electronic pieces in the garage, and someone else still has their own pile of pieces to put together that will take us all to the next level. There's still time to dream, time to make it happen, and time to try again in the 20s and the 30s, especially since this is the age group that has decided to stay young forever.
In the 40s and 50s is the acceptance that the clock is ticking faster, that time is marching on whether I'm in step or marching to my own beat. Some of the things I wanted to do, the places I wanted to see, and the people I wanted to meet took another path, and my life is a forest of missed opportunities. Of course, on the other hand, the paths I walked have, for the most part, been rich and rewarding or amazing and interesting -- including the life lessons we all experience first-hand and figure out how to handle all by our lonesomes. It is during this time that our parents leave our lives, our children step away from us to make their own lives, and we stand in front of the bathroom mirror and see our parent's face staring back at us.
In the 60s sets in the resignation of the elderly, who quickly learn that no one listens to old people, no one wants to spend time with old people, and spending day after day with other old people confirms the why of those decisions. Driving a car is no longer an adventure, but an accident waiting to happen, especially when one has traveled from 2-lane country roads to 8-lane freeways, and speeds have gone from 45 flyin' mph to 85 get the hell out of my way mph. Each day becomes a challenge of remember when, accompanied by a whole litany of I used to, and thank god the dog is a good listener.
My mom always said that you cannot put an old head onto young shoulders, indicating that the wisdom of the elderly could temper the exuberance of the youth, provide a reality check for the expectations, temper the frustrations of acceptance, and hold at bay the resignation of the elderly who feel as if life has either passed them by completely, or disappointed them in its outcome. I now realize that there is much to be gained by providing historical lessons, but today's generations are too busy texting, tweeting, and I-Ming to have the time to listen. They will get their lessons the old-fashioned way, from the school of hard knocks, the same way we all did, back before we became the old folks determined to teach the young ones some of life's truths and save them from the mistakes we made when we were their age. We cannot save anyone from learning life's lessons one at a time, so quit trying!
On this fine day, with a "sudden drop" in the temps from 113 yesterday to a mere 109 today, and the air conditioning cranking at least half of the total hours each day just to keep the inside of the house bearable, and the last of the injections of filler inside my knee, I find myself wanting to revisit a whole lot of shoulda/woulda/coulda opportunities that I didn't hear knocking. I want to go places, do things, and be with people, rather than taking care of my house, my pets, and my possessions.
I'm tired of being the responsible person, the one who does it all because there is no one else to do it for me. I'd love to have someone else remember that Wednesday is garbage day -- and take the cans to the curb; to have someone else groan at the realization that it's been 2 weeks since the last big doggie doo pick-up in the dog run; to have someone else clean the damned car, inside and out, because that is one of the physical activities that really torques my spinal column (as well as both vacuuming and mopping); to wash an occasional load of clothes, fold them, and put them away. But the choices I made back then led to my life today, so I live with knowing that I did what I had to do back then, even though it sucks to live with it in the here and now.
Today is one of those days that I'd like to lock the doors, drive away, and come back another day. My destination: a walk along the beach, a lingering dinner in a nice restaurant (rather than fast-food), and a really good night's sleep topped off with someone else figuring out breakfast. When I was younger, I did that, but for some reason, I'm just not as confident today as I was yesterday that it's a good idea, much less that I can make it happen.
Do I hear a chorus of "I love to go a-wandering, along the mountain track, and as I go I love to sing my knapsack on my back. Val-der-ee, val-der-rah, val-der-ee, val-der-rah, ha ha ha ha ha ha, val-der-ee, val-der-rah my knapsack on my back!!" Perhaps I'll load up my knapsack and see what happens ...
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Summer's Here!!
I parked beneath a fully-leaved tree, in the shade, with my windshield facing away from the sun, with the windows all cracked an inch, but when I returned to my car after my dental cleaning, the temp read-out was 122 degrees!! Glad to know that the AC cooled the car to 114 degrees by the time I arrived home, where the temp was steady at 113 degrees.
Summer has arrived in the desert.
Yep, I've turned on the AC, but did so reluctantly because we all had smart meters installed, whether we wanted them or not, by the electric company. Smart readers help the electric company better access my usage patterns and information, especially my usage during the peak hours (translation: most expensive usage hours), such as noon to 6 pm -- when the temps soar to their highest, along with the electricity rates that, ironically, don't give a damn that it's hotter than hell outside. The focus of the electric company is profit, so charging the highest rates for electricity during the hottest times of the day is simply good business for them and another financial hit for the consumer.
I replaced all the doors/windows, as well as all of my appliances and light bulbs, with energy efficient options over the past several years, but I did not replace the Trane AC system because it continues to work well. I clean the filters and the outside fan every month, and I'm not going to spend $5 grand to replace the equipment until/unless it fails. The temp control is set to 85 degrees, which actually feels quite cool inside on the tile flooring when it's in the hundred + teens outside.
The good news is that it's mid-June and I've just had to turn on the AC; many years, the AC comes on the first of May. If the weather continues to cooperate, we'll be back in the bearable 90s by the end of September, which means not using the AC 24/7. All discretionary income will be spent to pay for AC in the desert during the hot, hotter, hottest 3 summer months, our own version of stay-cations. Between gas prices and electric bills, no one can afford to go anywhere/do anything!!
Oh, well.
Summer has arrived in the desert.
Yep, I've turned on the AC, but did so reluctantly because we all had smart meters installed, whether we wanted them or not, by the electric company. Smart readers help the electric company better access my usage patterns and information, especially my usage during the peak hours (translation: most expensive usage hours), such as noon to 6 pm -- when the temps soar to their highest, along with the electricity rates that, ironically, don't give a damn that it's hotter than hell outside. The focus of the electric company is profit, so charging the highest rates for electricity during the hottest times of the day is simply good business for them and another financial hit for the consumer.
I replaced all the doors/windows, as well as all of my appliances and light bulbs, with energy efficient options over the past several years, but I did not replace the Trane AC system because it continues to work well. I clean the filters and the outside fan every month, and I'm not going to spend $5 grand to replace the equipment until/unless it fails. The temp control is set to 85 degrees, which actually feels quite cool inside on the tile flooring when it's in the hundred + teens outside.
The good news is that it's mid-June and I've just had to turn on the AC; many years, the AC comes on the first of May. If the weather continues to cooperate, we'll be back in the bearable 90s by the end of September, which means not using the AC 24/7. All discretionary income will be spent to pay for AC in the desert during the hot, hotter, hottest 3 summer months, our own version of stay-cations. Between gas prices and electric bills, no one can afford to go anywhere/do anything!!
Oh, well.
Because I Say So
Each time I come across the TV pundits pontificating about the Casey Anthony trial, I ask the same question: does Casey really believe that she's not guilty, that her daughter did not die in her sleep as the result of using xanax (Zanny, the nanny) to "babysit" her daughter while mommy went out clubbing? Casey would not be the first, nor the last, young mother to do this to her child, but Caylee died. What the hell do you do when you finally wake up the day after your night before and realize that your daughter is dead?
Do you call your parents and tell them that you drugged your child so she would sleep while you were out clubbing and now you cannot wake her? You know it was just an accident, but your parents would call the police and blame you for what happened to Caylee: who needs that? Why not just stuff her body into the trunk of your car and go on with your life, no harm/no foul? No one will know unless you tell them, so just keep your mouth shut and worry about it only if you have to. You can't change what happened, so get over it.
I see Casey pretending tears minutes after giving her lawyer the come-on looks and coy smiles, making the cute little faces, and I wonder if she thinks all 12 jurors will accept her lies and deny her daughter's truth. I'm willing to bet that Casey's confident she will walk away from this courtroom to continue the life she's not just always wanted, but she's always lived -- including the 31 days of partying that her daughter's death complicated, but did not hinder.
The truth is always at the bottom of even the most believable lies, but Casey's lies are so far-fetched that it's a wonder she believes them. Her mother said it all with her initial 9-1-1 call: it smells like there's been a dead body in my daughter's car trunk, and that's the truth that has to replace all the lies that have taken its place.
Do you call your parents and tell them that you drugged your child so she would sleep while you were out clubbing and now you cannot wake her? You know it was just an accident, but your parents would call the police and blame you for what happened to Caylee: who needs that? Why not just stuff her body into the trunk of your car and go on with your life, no harm/no foul? No one will know unless you tell them, so just keep your mouth shut and worry about it only if you have to. You can't change what happened, so get over it.
I see Casey pretending tears minutes after giving her lawyer the come-on looks and coy smiles, making the cute little faces, and I wonder if she thinks all 12 jurors will accept her lies and deny her daughter's truth. I'm willing to bet that Casey's confident she will walk away from this courtroom to continue the life she's not just always wanted, but she's always lived -- including the 31 days of partying that her daughter's death complicated, but did not hinder.
The truth is always at the bottom of even the most believable lies, but Casey's lies are so far-fetched that it's a wonder she believes them. Her mother said it all with her initial 9-1-1 call: it smells like there's been a dead body in my daughter's car trunk, and that's the truth that has to replace all the lies that have taken its place.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Beholding Beauty
Franklin & Bash is one of the newest TV lawyer shows, and I like it … mostly. Sometimes, the two totally cute guys with the totally cool lifestyle try totally too hard to be enviable, but they are totally appealing to a young, hip, upwardly mobile demographic that wants amazing beautiful people to live an amazing lifestyle filled with other amazing beautiful people and attend amazing parties. As lawyers, F&B champion the underdog, but this last week, they sent a message that concerns me.
The set-up included a plain Jane who is confident she was fired for being too physically beautiful, but it is clear to anyone that is not the reason. She worked at a Playboy kind of media publication staffed with women whose plastic surgery is covered by the company’s medical plan. The other employees obviously availed themselves of that perk, but not this employee, so the story centers on how to represent her to a jury as being more beautiful than the rest of the very beautiful staff when she is obviously not as physically beautiful as her co-workers.
Clearly there is a specific standard for how a female employee is to look and dress, and Franklin & Bash’s new client is nowhere close to achieving it. However, rather than being honest and telling her she was probably fired for reasons other than her amazing physical beauty, which would not be as funny for the episode, the guys try to sell the "I'm incredibly beautiful" story in court. There's a need to base the case on the truth, but no one wants to go near that politically incorrect honesty. As the lawyers play to the women of the jury by pretending to believe the physical beauty claim of the plain Jane, including a hot, steamy, sexual kiss on the witness stand, the episode that has so much promise falters into mediocrity.
Most of the women with whom I am friends are physically attractive, some more so than others, but their beauty comes from within: sparkling wit, engaging humor, deeply-felt empathy, and sincere friendship. What Franklin and Bash miss is how an average woman can be so confident that she is more beautiful than co-workers who reflect the popular media standards for physical beauty. It is the person, not the package, that makes her so well-liked, accepted and appreciated by her co-workers – and a target of jealousy from a woman whose own father appreciates the beautiful packaging, but does not know the intrinsic beauty of the woman inside it. It's okay to confirm a beauty that is not based on physical appearance, but that message is never sent because no one is willing to articulate it.
TV scripts don’t always have to go for the joke to make the point, but there was an opportunity missed to at least make a statement. Had the two lawyers distinguished for the client that while she could not compete physically with the beautiful plastic people, she has an inner beauty that distinguishes her from them, perhaps for the teen girls and young women watching the two hot guys drooling over the plethora of bikini babes bouncing beach balls in an outdoor pool, the subtle message could have been more powerful than the overt joke. Women do not have to rock a bikini bod to be beautiful or to be wooed by great guys, but that is the message the episode sends by refusing to be honest about true beauty.
Boobs eventually give into gravity and looks also fail no matter how often reconstructive surgery is performed; however, the qualities that truly make a woman attractive for her lifetime remain intact, and that’s beautiful and worth defending.
The set-up included a plain Jane who is confident she was fired for being too physically beautiful, but it is clear to anyone that is not the reason. She worked at a Playboy kind of media publication staffed with women whose plastic surgery is covered by the company’s medical plan. The other employees obviously availed themselves of that perk, but not this employee, so the story centers on how to represent her to a jury as being more beautiful than the rest of the very beautiful staff when she is obviously not as physically beautiful as her co-workers.
Clearly there is a specific standard for how a female employee is to look and dress, and Franklin & Bash’s new client is nowhere close to achieving it. However, rather than being honest and telling her she was probably fired for reasons other than her amazing physical beauty, which would not be as funny for the episode, the guys try to sell the "I'm incredibly beautiful" story in court. There's a need to base the case on the truth, but no one wants to go near that politically incorrect honesty. As the lawyers play to the women of the jury by pretending to believe the physical beauty claim of the plain Jane, including a hot, steamy, sexual kiss on the witness stand, the episode that has so much promise falters into mediocrity.
Most of the women with whom I am friends are physically attractive, some more so than others, but their beauty comes from within: sparkling wit, engaging humor, deeply-felt empathy, and sincere friendship. What Franklin and Bash miss is how an average woman can be so confident that she is more beautiful than co-workers who reflect the popular media standards for physical beauty. It is the person, not the package, that makes her so well-liked, accepted and appreciated by her co-workers – and a target of jealousy from a woman whose own father appreciates the beautiful packaging, but does not know the intrinsic beauty of the woman inside it. It's okay to confirm a beauty that is not based on physical appearance, but that message is never sent because no one is willing to articulate it.
TV scripts don’t always have to go for the joke to make the point, but there was an opportunity missed to at least make a statement. Had the two lawyers distinguished for the client that while she could not compete physically with the beautiful plastic people, she has an inner beauty that distinguishes her from them, perhaps for the teen girls and young women watching the two hot guys drooling over the plethora of bikini babes bouncing beach balls in an outdoor pool, the subtle message could have been more powerful than the overt joke. Women do not have to rock a bikini bod to be beautiful or to be wooed by great guys, but that is the message the episode sends by refusing to be honest about true beauty.
Boobs eventually give into gravity and looks also fail no matter how often reconstructive surgery is performed; however, the qualities that truly make a woman attractive for her lifetime remain intact, and that’s beautiful and worth defending.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Dirty Little Secrets
Men seem to be fiercely protective of their junk, warning strangers not to touch their private parts or suffer the consequences. Allegedly, there is some degree of apprehension even when sharing their junk with a sexual partner because one cannot know how the other half of the sex act is going to react to the pubic unveiling. A recent radio discussion involved ascertaining whether women are turned on -- or off -- by a man's junk, with the results of a survey indicating that a man's sexual equipment may be functional, but not necessarily appealing to look at from the woman's perspective. As a matter of fact, the discussion concluded that being too up close and personal can be a total turn-off for many women. Perhaps men forget that when they call their private parts "junk," that's the way the rest of us are going to react to it, too.
So, why on earth do men take photos of their junk? Do THEY not know what it looks like, so they need to see it from another perspective? How about using a mirror? Or, if the man uses a digital camera, DELETE it after the viewing is finished!! For crying out loud, why would anyone take an intimate photo of their private parts -- and then send it to the rest of the world for critique? Do men really think that the world won't titter in embarassment and/or laugh at their shortcomings?
Is it a lack of self-confidence or an overblown ego that drives this sort of behavior, or, in the latest case, is it the result of too many years of "weiner" jokes that convinces the big brain that posting intimate photos of one's genitalia is a good idea?
I used to joke about how lax the media was becoming about personal products when tampon commercials first started airing, predicting that one day we'd see a comparison of used tampons to demonstrate superior absorbancy. Little did I realize how close to that truth TV advertising would come! There are no current boundaries, so rather than keeping their private parts private, women flaunt their bodies while dressed in scanty lingerie from Victoria's Secret, and men flaunt a crotch bulge while showing off a new line of men's underwear. It crosses a line between public and personal business, and there are some things that don't need a public airing, including a man's junk.
Young people today brag about their sexuality when they are too young to understand that nude photos, as well as sex tapes (no matter how "tasteful" anyone claims they are), remain with them for a lifetime, just like a tattoo. What seems like a good idea in the moment can become one of those skeletons in the closet that no one wants to share publicly down the road. Today, it's called a sex tape, but not so long ago it was called porn. I listened while Paris Hilton and her mom shared the "shame" of Paris's pornographic sex tape on Piers' talk show, but neither of them went to the heart of the issue: why was the tape made in the first place? What is morally missing in Paris that the only way she could make her mark on the world was to film herself engaging in sexual activity with her then-boyfriend and then sharing it with the world? How many other girls copied her behavior when they saw how it thrust Paris into the social limelight and made her a household name?
What link is missing in a politician's brain that he thinks he can photograph his private parts, send them into the electronic ether to be viewed and commented on by strangers, and walk away with no harm/no foul? Do politicians think this kind of behavior is not going to be questioned by the people who elected them? Their job is to represent the electorate politically, not to stroke their own ego by showing off their junk to strangers!
A public figure who engages in such reckless behavior needs to resign immediately: if you do the crime, you do the time -- and it is a crime to engage in pornography. Taking pictures of your junk and sending them to strangers is not "just social networking," and to compound the error in judgment, as well as the criminality of the act, by denying it when YOU know what you did is inexcuseable. As the old saying goes, "Fool's names, like fool's faces, always turn up in public places," and this country does not need any more fools in public places.
So, why on earth do men take photos of their junk? Do THEY not know what it looks like, so they need to see it from another perspective? How about using a mirror? Or, if the man uses a digital camera, DELETE it after the viewing is finished!! For crying out loud, why would anyone take an intimate photo of their private parts -- and then send it to the rest of the world for critique? Do men really think that the world won't titter in embarassment and/or laugh at their shortcomings?
Is it a lack of self-confidence or an overblown ego that drives this sort of behavior, or, in the latest case, is it the result of too many years of "weiner" jokes that convinces the big brain that posting intimate photos of one's genitalia is a good idea?
I used to joke about how lax the media was becoming about personal products when tampon commercials first started airing, predicting that one day we'd see a comparison of used tampons to demonstrate superior absorbancy. Little did I realize how close to that truth TV advertising would come! There are no current boundaries, so rather than keeping their private parts private, women flaunt their bodies while dressed in scanty lingerie from Victoria's Secret, and men flaunt a crotch bulge while showing off a new line of men's underwear. It crosses a line between public and personal business, and there are some things that don't need a public airing, including a man's junk.
Young people today brag about their sexuality when they are too young to understand that nude photos, as well as sex tapes (no matter how "tasteful" anyone claims they are), remain with them for a lifetime, just like a tattoo. What seems like a good idea in the moment can become one of those skeletons in the closet that no one wants to share publicly down the road. Today, it's called a sex tape, but not so long ago it was called porn. I listened while Paris Hilton and her mom shared the "shame" of Paris's pornographic sex tape on Piers' talk show, but neither of them went to the heart of the issue: why was the tape made in the first place? What is morally missing in Paris that the only way she could make her mark on the world was to film herself engaging in sexual activity with her then-boyfriend and then sharing it with the world? How many other girls copied her behavior when they saw how it thrust Paris into the social limelight and made her a household name?
What link is missing in a politician's brain that he thinks he can photograph his private parts, send them into the electronic ether to be viewed and commented on by strangers, and walk away with no harm/no foul? Do politicians think this kind of behavior is not going to be questioned by the people who elected them? Their job is to represent the electorate politically, not to stroke their own ego by showing off their junk to strangers!
A public figure who engages in such reckless behavior needs to resign immediately: if you do the crime, you do the time -- and it is a crime to engage in pornography. Taking pictures of your junk and sending them to strangers is not "just social networking," and to compound the error in judgment, as well as the criminality of the act, by denying it when YOU know what you did is inexcuseable. As the old saying goes, "Fool's names, like fool's faces, always turn up in public places," and this country does not need any more fools in public places.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
A Picture Negates the Need for Further Discussion
There's a soil recycling plant outside the desert community of Mecca. Because there is a strong, unidentifiable odor in the area making people sick, especially at a nearby elementary school, everyone has been trying to figure out what the odor is and why it's making people sick. Even Senator Boxer and underdog champion Erin Brockowitz (sp) have visited the area to investigate and then use the media to get something done. Here's the headline from today's local paper online, followed by the photo:
Soil recycling plant deflects blame for odor --
At first glance, the photo caption could be "Piss on It!"
Soil recycling plant deflects blame for odor --
At first glance, the photo caption could be "Piss on It!"
Monday, June 6, 2011
Anal Retentive
I will take three colonoscopies for every one personal collection experience. Because I was not up for more medical appointments last year, I skipped them; feeling guilty, I scheduled everything imaginable for this year, perhaps in a desperate need to make up for not having the “annual” inspections last year. Thus, I kicked off medical month with lab work today: blood glucose, cholesterol, thyroid, and fecal matter inspection. Yeah, that one. I’ve been doing the colonoscopy every 5 years, so didn’t think I had to participate in the self exam process, but figured if the doctor thinks it should be checked, I’d find a way to cooperate – regardless of how much I really, really did NOT want to do this.
For anyone who is not familiar with the experience, one must first have the urge to purge, then be willing to hold that thought whilst one sets up for the collection process that begins with floating a piece of waxed paper on top of the water in the bowl. The goal is to unburden one’s self on top of the floating paper without sinking it because coming into contact with the bowl water negates the validity of the test. It’s challenging to hover over the plastic paper and wonder if it will stay afloat long enough to collect a sample before sinking, which, of course, depends upon the gross weight of the deposit.
Some people are rodents and eject small pellets, while others collect the deposit for a couple of days and make BIG Great Dane doo-doo. Once it starts, there is no stopping to assure that the weight of the excrement does not sink the paper; because there’s only one paper provided in the collection kit, if the paper sinks, there is no Plan B provided. I’m one who never knows how large the deposit will be until I’m fully engaged in the process, so not knowing whether my paper was up to the challenge of supporting my endeavor was inhibiting. However, once the bowels move, it’s too late to back out, as it were, so the tricky part is to hoist one’s self above the bowl and take the sample with an incredibly small sample stick before the paper sinks and the experience becomes truly wasted effort.
After reading the directions three times, and preparing the collection kit in the proper sequence on the bathroom vanity, I felt I was ready to do this. OMG! I doubt that anyone will ever truly be “ready” to do this, and it really is a lot more challenging than the pictorial directions present it!! The paper sinks much faster than the person can rise, grab the collection stick, swab the excrement, and then put it into the very, very small opening in the very small collection container, snap the lid securely shut, and then resume one’s seat on the throne to finish the business at hand. If my paper had sunk and taken my sample with it, there would be no repeat performance because I’d just figure that was God laughing at me – and anyone else foolish enough to do one of these sample collections.
We old folks are the target demographic, and there are going to be far more old folks than young ones in the coming decade, so if the labs really need these specific samples, someone better come up with a more user-friendly process. If anyone wants to make life easier for all concerned, I suggest revamping the collection kit!! My eyesight is on the edge of acuity, my manual dexterity is limited, and my physical ability to rise up, do the job, and then resume my seat is challenging. I’m going to guess that I may be able to do this process once more, next year, and I’m not going to assure anyone that I can successfully complete the collection two years in a row, but I am sure I won’t want to even make the attempt.
For anyone who is not familiar with the experience, one must first have the urge to purge, then be willing to hold that thought whilst one sets up for the collection process that begins with floating a piece of waxed paper on top of the water in the bowl. The goal is to unburden one’s self on top of the floating paper without sinking it because coming into contact with the bowl water negates the validity of the test. It’s challenging to hover over the plastic paper and wonder if it will stay afloat long enough to collect a sample before sinking, which, of course, depends upon the gross weight of the deposit.
Some people are rodents and eject small pellets, while others collect the deposit for a couple of days and make BIG Great Dane doo-doo. Once it starts, there is no stopping to assure that the weight of the excrement does not sink the paper; because there’s only one paper provided in the collection kit, if the paper sinks, there is no Plan B provided. I’m one who never knows how large the deposit will be until I’m fully engaged in the process, so not knowing whether my paper was up to the challenge of supporting my endeavor was inhibiting. However, once the bowels move, it’s too late to back out, as it were, so the tricky part is to hoist one’s self above the bowl and take the sample with an incredibly small sample stick before the paper sinks and the experience becomes truly wasted effort.
After reading the directions three times, and preparing the collection kit in the proper sequence on the bathroom vanity, I felt I was ready to do this. OMG! I doubt that anyone will ever truly be “ready” to do this, and it really is a lot more challenging than the pictorial directions present it!! The paper sinks much faster than the person can rise, grab the collection stick, swab the excrement, and then put it into the very, very small opening in the very small collection container, snap the lid securely shut, and then resume one’s seat on the throne to finish the business at hand. If my paper had sunk and taken my sample with it, there would be no repeat performance because I’d just figure that was God laughing at me – and anyone else foolish enough to do one of these sample collections.
We old folks are the target demographic, and there are going to be far more old folks than young ones in the coming decade, so if the labs really need these specific samples, someone better come up with a more user-friendly process. If anyone wants to make life easier for all concerned, I suggest revamping the collection kit!! My eyesight is on the edge of acuity, my manual dexterity is limited, and my physical ability to rise up, do the job, and then resume my seat is challenging. I’m going to guess that I may be able to do this process once more, next year, and I’m not going to assure anyone that I can successfully complete the collection two years in a row, but I am sure I won’t want to even make the attempt.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
On the News Front ...
The lady who asked for artificial sweetener in her coffee was given a packet of sugar, she drank, reacted, and headed for the ER because she's diabetic. This occurred in the drive-through at DUNKIN' DONUTS (smile); I seldom understand one word uttered by a drive-through attendant, so I'm pretty sure they don't understand me, either. Hence, I always double-check my order by asking that it be read back to me, and then I check again at the window. This event is unfortunate, but is it worth a lawsuit because the woman who drank the coffee claims that she could have died. Really? She drove herself to the ER, so although it was probably scary, I'm not convinced that she was in mortal danger from the one packet of sugar inadvertently added to the coffee she only partially drank. Surely an apology, and maybe free coffee for a month, but a lawsuit??
Hurrah: it's about time that society again demands real singers who sing real songs with real lyrics!! Okay, so we've had to return to the 1980s boy/girl bands to get it, but hurrah. Combining Backstreet Boyz with (aging) New Kids on the Block is sheer genius (oops, that's another reality show, isn't it?), great marketing, and totally appealing to generational audiences. At the same time, the girl band, the Go-Go's, were rocking it on another morning show. The crowds were singing along, swaying in the early morning air, while enjoying the heck out of performers without sun glasses or weird costumes singing melodies that accompany lyrics that tell a story, rather than rhyming words that end in "uck."
On the other side of the sound stage, Rhianna(or however you spell her name) singing about killing a man and portraying it in a video? Okay, so NOW I'm totally over the Chris Brown thing. Let's have an equally strong reaction to her actions as we had to his two years' ago: boycott her, condemn her in the media for her inappropriate actions, make her life a living hell, rather than elevating her to sainthood as the poster child for poor, abused women. She is now the abusive one, victimizing impressionable young children who worship her music and her message.
Tickets for Coachella are on sale and actually mentioned in the new TV series Franklin & Bash: "I already bought my 3-day Coachella pass," says Bash. Anyone who lives in the Valley knows that you have about 3 days to buy your pass because the sell-out happens almost overnight! The good news locally is that the festival promoters have booked all the acts for a double-weekend due to the incredible attendance. The bad news is that no one told the local residents before making this decision. Residents who live within 5 miles of the venue are pretty much land-locked for the duration. There were 4 weekend concerts during the "season," but now there will be 5 weekends that families are forced to stay in their homes and batten down the hatches. Probably would have been nice to include their concerns in the decision-making process.
My dogs became conditioned to going to the dog park far too quickly. Because it's 30 minutes one-way, I'm only making the trip twice a week; however, the dogs don't know how long the trip is, how much gas costs, or how tiring it is to take them to the dog park. They just want to go romp and stomp with the other dogs, so they lurk over me on the couch, constantly lick either my kneecap or my hand, and roll over for tummy scratching to show me that they want to go to the dog park every day, not just twice a week. We limped around the block last evening, my really poor substitute for the preferred experience, but one block is all I can make these days. On the dog front, I'm feeling like a personal failure, even though I did buy them a new squeaky ball at Wal-Mart and played fetch for a full half-hour.
My horoscope has been kick-ass this past week and continues to be positive. Told me about sudden, unexpected wealth -- and I found a 1942 wheat penny on the ground, as well as two quarters and two other pennies. Told me that there would be romance in my life, and the cute 40-something guy at the birthday cake shop was utterly charming. Told me that my head would be filled with creativity and lofty thoughts -- and I wrote this blog.
What more does the world want?
Hurrah: it's about time that society again demands real singers who sing real songs with real lyrics!! Okay, so we've had to return to the 1980s boy/girl bands to get it, but hurrah. Combining Backstreet Boyz with (aging) New Kids on the Block is sheer genius (oops, that's another reality show, isn't it?), great marketing, and totally appealing to generational audiences. At the same time, the girl band, the Go-Go's, were rocking it on another morning show. The crowds were singing along, swaying in the early morning air, while enjoying the heck out of performers without sun glasses or weird costumes singing melodies that accompany lyrics that tell a story, rather than rhyming words that end in "uck."
On the other side of the sound stage, Rhianna(or however you spell her name) singing about killing a man and portraying it in a video? Okay, so NOW I'm totally over the Chris Brown thing. Let's have an equally strong reaction to her actions as we had to his two years' ago: boycott her, condemn her in the media for her inappropriate actions, make her life a living hell, rather than elevating her to sainthood as the poster child for poor, abused women. She is now the abusive one, victimizing impressionable young children who worship her music and her message.
Tickets for Coachella are on sale and actually mentioned in the new TV series Franklin & Bash: "I already bought my 3-day Coachella pass," says Bash. Anyone who lives in the Valley knows that you have about 3 days to buy your pass because the sell-out happens almost overnight! The good news locally is that the festival promoters have booked all the acts for a double-weekend due to the incredible attendance. The bad news is that no one told the local residents before making this decision. Residents who live within 5 miles of the venue are pretty much land-locked for the duration. There were 4 weekend concerts during the "season," but now there will be 5 weekends that families are forced to stay in their homes and batten down the hatches. Probably would have been nice to include their concerns in the decision-making process.
My dogs became conditioned to going to the dog park far too quickly. Because it's 30 minutes one-way, I'm only making the trip twice a week; however, the dogs don't know how long the trip is, how much gas costs, or how tiring it is to take them to the dog park. They just want to go romp and stomp with the other dogs, so they lurk over me on the couch, constantly lick either my kneecap or my hand, and roll over for tummy scratching to show me that they want to go to the dog park every day, not just twice a week. We limped around the block last evening, my really poor substitute for the preferred experience, but one block is all I can make these days. On the dog front, I'm feeling like a personal failure, even though I did buy them a new squeaky ball at Wal-Mart and played fetch for a full half-hour.
My horoscope has been kick-ass this past week and continues to be positive. Told me about sudden, unexpected wealth -- and I found a 1942 wheat penny on the ground, as well as two quarters and two other pennies. Told me that there would be romance in my life, and the cute 40-something guy at the birthday cake shop was utterly charming. Told me that my head would be filled with creativity and lofty thoughts -- and I wrote this blog.
What more does the world want?
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Dear Ms. Palin
Well-educated working women do not want international representation by a caricature smiling a “ya betcha” at the leader of a foreign government. We do not dumb ourselves down to be more empathetic with women and/or to entice men into our webs because we know who we are, what we believe, and how to present ourselves in a professional manner. When you were added to the McCain ticket, he lost my vote: I could not confirm your standing as the second highest office holder in this nation when you presented yourself as just another ditzy broad.
Actions speak louder than words for the working class, but quality actions have to be reinforced with quality speeches for a politician. The “just folks” approach that is so appealing in rural America seems clownish on a national stage and outright ridiculous on the international political scene. We can let our hair down in an appropriate venue when we are private citizens, but a political figure can never let her hair down because she represents public office and loses her private citizen status the moment she declares her candidacy.
Meg Whitman ran for governor of California at the same time you were a vice-presidential candidate. Meg was brought down by allegations of haughtiness, while you were ridiculed as too common. Meg allegedly hired an illegal immigrant housekeeper, and the media’s perception became not just Meg’s reality, but her nightmare, and you hunted for moose and endorsed drilling for oil in the pristine wilderness of Alaska, while the media was still touting the effects of global warming. Meg had multiple millions to spend on her campaign, which made the voters feel that she didn’t need their support, while you were just plain old Sarah, which made you seem too needy and, perhaps, gullible to the big powers that be.
No one knows whether you are going to run again, but my advice is don’t do it: you are not ready to take on the good ole boys, nor the nasty girls, who earned their credentials in Washington, DC the hard way. Being vice president is not a popularity contest won with a cute smile, darling outfit, and great hair, but a job that requires tremendous executive ability, as well as public performance. The US does not need international jokes made at the vice president’s expense, ala Joe Biden, whose foot spends more time in his mouth than his dinner fork, but Biden is forgiven because he’s been in DC a long time and earned the right to the thankless job of being Mr. Second in Line. Hillary Clinton has the creds, the contacts, and the international respect to make another run at the Presidency, but there is something lurking in her background that led to her hasty withdrawal from the last race – and I’m going to bet that there is something in your background that will be used to destroy you if you come out again as a candidate for the highest political office. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice and be publicly pilloried.
If you are determined to do this, get a more professional team of handlers to take you through the public appearance process and help you to rebuild your image into one that all Americans can relate to, not just the isolated few in the back country. Referring to a potential vice president's spouse as "The Second Dude" will not work a second time around. As a single professional woman, I can handle my life as well as the next female, but having strong opinions on local, national, and international policies and practices, combined with my singular accomplishments within my own sphere of influence, do not qualify me to run the government.
The people have already provided you with the feedback you need to make the decision, and while the people seem amenable to your public appearances, they do not confirm that you are qualified to make another run at the White House.
Listen to them.
Actions speak louder than words for the working class, but quality actions have to be reinforced with quality speeches for a politician. The “just folks” approach that is so appealing in rural America seems clownish on a national stage and outright ridiculous on the international political scene. We can let our hair down in an appropriate venue when we are private citizens, but a political figure can never let her hair down because she represents public office and loses her private citizen status the moment she declares her candidacy.
Meg Whitman ran for governor of California at the same time you were a vice-presidential candidate. Meg was brought down by allegations of haughtiness, while you were ridiculed as too common. Meg allegedly hired an illegal immigrant housekeeper, and the media’s perception became not just Meg’s reality, but her nightmare, and you hunted for moose and endorsed drilling for oil in the pristine wilderness of Alaska, while the media was still touting the effects of global warming. Meg had multiple millions to spend on her campaign, which made the voters feel that she didn’t need their support, while you were just plain old Sarah, which made you seem too needy and, perhaps, gullible to the big powers that be.
No one knows whether you are going to run again, but my advice is don’t do it: you are not ready to take on the good ole boys, nor the nasty girls, who earned their credentials in Washington, DC the hard way. Being vice president is not a popularity contest won with a cute smile, darling outfit, and great hair, but a job that requires tremendous executive ability, as well as public performance. The US does not need international jokes made at the vice president’s expense, ala Joe Biden, whose foot spends more time in his mouth than his dinner fork, but Biden is forgiven because he’s been in DC a long time and earned the right to the thankless job of being Mr. Second in Line. Hillary Clinton has the creds, the contacts, and the international respect to make another run at the Presidency, but there is something lurking in her background that led to her hasty withdrawal from the last race – and I’m going to bet that there is something in your background that will be used to destroy you if you come out again as a candidate for the highest political office. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice and be publicly pilloried.
If you are determined to do this, get a more professional team of handlers to take you through the public appearance process and help you to rebuild your image into one that all Americans can relate to, not just the isolated few in the back country. Referring to a potential vice president's spouse as "The Second Dude" will not work a second time around. As a single professional woman, I can handle my life as well as the next female, but having strong opinions on local, national, and international policies and practices, combined with my singular accomplishments within my own sphere of influence, do not qualify me to run the government.
The people have already provided you with the feedback you need to make the decision, and while the people seem amenable to your public appearances, they do not confirm that you are qualified to make another run at the White House.
Listen to them.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Really, Really Good TV Series
The Killing is in at least its second year, which is surprising because it's one of the low-key, realistic, non-trendy shows that usually do not appeal to the hip young audiences and is quickly canceled. However, when one realizes that this show is on AMC, it makes sense that it's not just one of the best "cop" dramas on TV, but also one of the best TV shows period. The premise is similar to the popular Keifer Sutherland series 24, with Linda the lead investigator in the case of a murdered teenager found in the trunk of a submerged car. The goal is to investigate the murder along with Linda, putting together the clues with her, and the twists and turns she takes are complicated, frustrating, and believable from the seats on the couch.
The setting is Seattle, where it rains far too much for a desert rat's liking, so we see Linda, long hair pulled back into a pony tail and dressed in jeans, boots, and a pea coat, dragging herself from one lead to another in the constant rain. Linda is not only not a fashionable lead character, but her personality could use a lot of work if her goal were to make friends. She is intense, often to the point of exhaustion, and her intensity interferes with her life as a single mother of a 13-year-old son, as well as with her somewhat pending marriage and relocation. When she catches a case, it is her sole focus to the point of personal sabotage.
Her partner in solving this crime is totally unlikeable, seemingly untrustworthy, and trying too hard to be a badass cop -- but he anchors Linda in reality, especially when he's been up for 48 hours and heads for bed, rather than following-up on a lead that he determines can wait until he's had some sleep. He's been an undercover cop, so he has a tendency to use deception to open doors with witnesses and/or potential suspects, pretending, for instance, to smoke weed with teens at the victim's high school to provide him with a reason for conversation with the otherwise reluctant high schoolers. He uncovers good leads through somewhat unconventional methods, then Linda uses her conventions to follow-up.
This show allows the tension to build with no one saying a word sometimes. When Linda stares at the evidence, there is no requisite room filled with smart-talking peers to break her concentration. When she's upset, she shows it physically, but keeps it internal. Sometimes, the clues that are seemingly going nowhere open with a startling clarity, such as this past episode wherein the word "Adela" and a number written on a piece of paper found between the pages of a book appears on a ferry moored at the dock where Linda finishes a morning run. When Linda uses the random note as another step in the investigation, she also figures out the key the young victim had: it opens the door to a room in a casino along the route of the Adela.
I find myself caught up in the plot, not just watching it. I find myself getting inside Linda's mind, not just watching her. I find myself shivering from all the damned rain and wonder how anyone can do their job under those circumstances. I feel badly for Linda that she's alienated her fiance, her one friend, and her son, but can empathsize with her need to finish what she's started, rather than walking away for personal reasons.
The Killing is a great series. I do not know if the previous season is available at the AMC website, but I know that this season is. I recommend The Killing to anyone who wants to know what has happened to good TV.
OKAY: updating. Her name is Sarah Linden, not Linda, and the sidekick's name is Holder. The series orginated in Denmark, but this is the first American season of it. The website shows lots of information, some interactive aspects, as well as a tracker feature for those who really get into the story and want to investigate along with Linden and Holder. Some viewers claim that they have already solved the murder, but everytime I think I have, the show takes a turn and I'm back at not having a clue who done it.
The setting is Seattle, where it rains far too much for a desert rat's liking, so we see Linda, long hair pulled back into a pony tail and dressed in jeans, boots, and a pea coat, dragging herself from one lead to another in the constant rain. Linda is not only not a fashionable lead character, but her personality could use a lot of work if her goal were to make friends. She is intense, often to the point of exhaustion, and her intensity interferes with her life as a single mother of a 13-year-old son, as well as with her somewhat pending marriage and relocation. When she catches a case, it is her sole focus to the point of personal sabotage.
Her partner in solving this crime is totally unlikeable, seemingly untrustworthy, and trying too hard to be a badass cop -- but he anchors Linda in reality, especially when he's been up for 48 hours and heads for bed, rather than following-up on a lead that he determines can wait until he's had some sleep. He's been an undercover cop, so he has a tendency to use deception to open doors with witnesses and/or potential suspects, pretending, for instance, to smoke weed with teens at the victim's high school to provide him with a reason for conversation with the otherwise reluctant high schoolers. He uncovers good leads through somewhat unconventional methods, then Linda uses her conventions to follow-up.
This show allows the tension to build with no one saying a word sometimes. When Linda stares at the evidence, there is no requisite room filled with smart-talking peers to break her concentration. When she's upset, she shows it physically, but keeps it internal. Sometimes, the clues that are seemingly going nowhere open with a startling clarity, such as this past episode wherein the word "Adela" and a number written on a piece of paper found between the pages of a book appears on a ferry moored at the dock where Linda finishes a morning run. When Linda uses the random note as another step in the investigation, she also figures out the key the young victim had: it opens the door to a room in a casino along the route of the Adela.
I find myself caught up in the plot, not just watching it. I find myself getting inside Linda's mind, not just watching her. I find myself shivering from all the damned rain and wonder how anyone can do their job under those circumstances. I feel badly for Linda that she's alienated her fiance, her one friend, and her son, but can empathsize with her need to finish what she's started, rather than walking away for personal reasons.
The Killing is a great series. I do not know if the previous season is available at the AMC website, but I know that this season is. I recommend The Killing to anyone who wants to know what has happened to good TV.
OKAY: updating. Her name is Sarah Linden, not Linda, and the sidekick's name is Holder. The series orginated in Denmark, but this is the first American season of it. The website shows lots of information, some interactive aspects, as well as a tracker feature for those who really get into the story and want to investigate along with Linden and Holder. Some viewers claim that they have already solved the murder, but everytime I think I have, the show takes a turn and I'm back at not having a clue who done it.
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